Does my title appear a little disheartening? Good! I silently and unceremoniously turned 67 a few weeks ago. I kept the occasion a secret except for a few close friends and family. However, I forgot that there is one source that blatantly broadcasts birthdays to everyone in the universe, Facebook.
Although I seldom post items on Facebook I enjoy keeping up with friends, family and ex-employees. When the site notifies all your “friends” of your impending doom it generates obligatory responses much like Pavlov’s dog. Consequently, I received an onslaught (I have over 175 “friends”) of typical responses.
Of course many are simple “happy birthday, Pete,” or “have a great day, Pete.” I am going to sidetrack here for a moment. Please people; look up some synonyms for the tired word “great”, the most overused, sluggish word in the English language. And don’t substitute “awesome”, the second most hackneyed term…sorry for the wayward bluster.
As I was saying, Facebook blew my cover and I received numerous greetings and acknowledgments. Along with the usual salutations came the more adroit (he said sarcastically) expressions such as “you’re not getting older you’re getting better,” “you look great for your age,” “have an awesome birthday” and “the second half is the better half” (my absolute most hated quote of all time).
There were however some clever, witty posts also. “I’m sorry you’re old,” “happy birthday, you still owe me twenty bucks,” and “happy birthday; this is so much cheaper than buying you a present”.
Of course there are some fabulous upsides to birthdays such as showing your driver’s license at Denny’s and getting a free meal. Grand Slam breakfast here I come.
Speaking of restaurants, please, if you take me out to dinner for my birthday, never inform the goofy staff of this sacred event behind my back. There’s nothing that disgusts me more than spotting four or five waiters and waitresses descending on my table like a horde of grinning vultures, mini-cake in hand with one burning candle, preparing to belt out their own unique, in-house version of happy birthday. I’d rather have a biopsy on my prostate performed by an 85-year-old Gastroenterologist with a lazy eye and the shakes.
You’re probably wondering about now just when I became so cynical and condescending toward birthdays. I believe birthday fifty-five was the genesis of my negative attitude toward the aging process and all its glories. It proved the celebratory day that in the eyes of most organizations and corporations I became a member of one of the most coveted groups of people in the land. I was officially a “Senior Citizen”—AARP territory! No cake thank you—I can’t eat sugar anymore.
Making an unfulfillable birthday wish is another grand tradition I adore. For the last ten years I’ve had the same birthday wish although I have never revealed the secret until now.
I secretly wish that anybody asking me for a birthday wish, including anyone standing within a five-foot radius of them will develop a roaring case of diarrhea when they return home. Happy birthday to you to!
Wow, I really am cynical! And who do we have to blame for all of this birthday silliness and overblown celebration? It’s the greeting card conspiracy of course. Over the past 50 years they have cleverly and systematically made it imperative that we purchase a six-dollar greeting card for every silly, trumped occasion under the sun…especially birthdays. Hallmark, you’ve really complicated life for all of us.
Although I must admit, I do love those musical cards that play rock ‘n’ roll songs. How do they produce such great sound in a card? I digress.
Thank you for allowing me to rant again. If anyone knows how I can remove my birthdate from my Facebook profile please email me. Mark Zuckerberg, if you are reading this (I believe he lives in a small apartment in Culver City) please let me know how it can be accomplished. This year the thing that really ticked me off on my birthday was, you guessed it, I forgot to eat at Denny’s for my free meal. Good grief!
